Grief and Parenting

I’ll Give You My Credit Card

/ Daddy

Dear Luciana,

A jackhammer was taking up residence in my brain when I picked you up from your Abuela. For the past three weeks I have been going into the office every single day. 45 minute commute each way all in traffic. I’m so tired.

But it was the day I always take you to the indoor playground with all the big slides. When I picked you up I asked you if you wanted to go. Hoping with all hope in the entire world that you would say no.

Of course you didn’t.

I want playgwound.

You sure? How about if I let you watch Mickey Mouse all night long?

Playgwound.

I’ll give you candy.

Playgwound.

I’ll let you stay up until midnight.

Playgwound.

I’ll give you my credit card.

PLLLAAAYGWWWWWOUND!!!!!!!!!!!

So we went to the playgwound. I mean playground. I thought I was going to hate myself for going.

But even with the migraine it was totally worth it.

While waiting in line you made friends with a 4 year old named Isabelle. You were obsessed with her. You followed her everywhere. Asked to hold her hand and play house. Made her hug all the teddy bears next to the slide.

I could barely keep my eyes open because the fluorescent lights were making me want to vomit.

It’s usually just us.

And only us.

Getting to see you play with someone in throwing distance of your age was so cute. After an hour I had to go. I was actually afraid I wasn’t even going to make it home before passing out.

You cried so much when I carried you out. I felt so bad.

The next morning I still had to go into the office. I was exhausted. I was tired, and normally I would just bitch and moan about my life sucking because Mommy is dead. But not this time.

This time I stayed present. I stayed off my phone. I stayed in the moment and watched you play.

It was amazing.

It was temporary.

But I did it.

Mommy would be proud.

Besitos,

Daddy.

Where Is the Stop Button

/ Daddy

Dear Luciana,

So today I realized something. At the end of the book, I wrote about how when you were cranky, I would flip you upside down to get you to stop crying. I can’t do that anymore.

I don’t even remember the last time I did it. It must have been months ago. You still love being carried, that hasn’t changed. But I can no longer flip you upside down and let your legs dangle around my neck. You are too big.

Why are you doing that to me? Why are you growing so quickly? Do you know you cause me an existential crisis every time you do something like this? In about four months you are going from daycare to preschool. In the past two months you’ve gone from barely talking to talking nonstop. I need to take some Lorazepam.

Where is the stop button?

Besitos,

Daddy

When Mommy Means I Miss You

/ Daddy

Dear Vanessa,

I wrote a letter in the book about how when Luciana called your mother Mommy, I felt a certain way about it. Well, that was over six months ago at this point. Although it feels like yesterday. Time has no meaning after you died.

Luciana says Mommy all the time now. She has called me Mommy. She has called your mother Mommy. Even random people get called Mommy.

I finally figured out what she is saying.

When she calls someone Mommy, it is usually when she is upset. It is usually what happens when someone is leaving. When she calls someone Mommy, it means I miss you.

I hate it.

Before you call me a Grinch, I am allowed to hate it. I know it might seem cute. I know some people might think it is a connection to you.

Nope.

I hate it.

I want you to be Mommy. I do not want Mommy to mean me, or your mother, or some sweet little toddler translation into something meaningful and profound.

I want Mommy to mean you. And only you.

Does that make me cranky? Probably.

I am not going to correct her. I have learned that lesson. But I will nudge her in the right direction. I will continuously give her positive reinforcement when you are called Mommy.

You will always be Mommy. No matter how cute the alternative is.

Besitos,

Michael